


some mountains have moved

by geode



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, peanut butter storage inaccuracy, this started out as crack to remedy cutio's death but ended up hurting me even further smh, title from the saddest song in the world, yes they are mates with petruchio i couldnt help it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geode/pseuds/geode
Summary: "Cool, isn't it?" Mercutio grins, passing his long fingers through one of the kitchen cupboard doors.





	

**(1)**

 

"What the fuck," Benvolio says in a slack-jaw monotone.

"Oh come on! I thought you'd at least burst into tears in pure, unadulterated joy," Mercutio pouts.

He is lounging elegantly in Benvolio's old armchair, the one with little swallows embroidered across the arms.

He is in Benvolio's house.

He is wearing a very clean, very white shirt.

"What the _fuck_ ," Benvolio hisses.

 

**(2)**

 

So, as it turns out, Mercutio isn't dead. Well, he is, but he's still around.

As a ghost.

"Cool, isn't it?" Mercutio grins, passing his long fingers through one of the kitchen cupboard doors.

"Cool!? I thought the world had ended!"

"Only for about half an hour," Mercutio points out, and then they both realise at the same time: Benvolio winces. "Aww, you think I'm the world? That's so sweet, Benny,"

"Piss off. I just mean- you're one of my closest friends and it changed- well, _would've_ changed pretty much everything."

Mercutio doesn't buy his amendment and continues to coo at him while he's flitting around making himself some emergency toast.

Ben sticks his head in the fridge and closes his eyes for a second, whispers, _"This is ridiculous,"_ into the peanut butter jar.

 

**(3)**

 

Mercutio is an annoying ghost.

He's always there, always has something sarcastic to say, and is surprisingly clingy for someone who cannot feel anything physical. Benvolio sees a lot more of him after his death than he ever did before (and that's saying something). This is for several reasons, the most obvious one being Mercutio just likes being an irritating little shit - he has a particular fondness for swooping out of the floorboards at random times and making Benvolio fall over/ drop things/ make embarrassing squawking noises.

The second is that as far as either of them can tell, Benvolio is the only one who can see him.

("I did die in your arms, if you recall," Mercutio says playfully, floating just on top of the breakfast bar so he appears to be sitting on it, even swinging his legs for Effect. "We have an unbreakable bond now, don't deny it."

"So I'm the only person you have to talk to for all eternity? You, who won a 24 Hour Speaking competition in 2011?"

Mercutio winks at him.

"Oh, bugger.")

And the third is that Benvolio is supposed to be in mourning, so he can hardly gallivant around visiting people and having days out to stave off the dead person in question's boredom, can he?

 

**(4)**

 

To be honest he's doing a pretty bullshit job of seeming sad anyway.

He runs into Paris in the Co-op, and had until that moment completely forgotten what was supposed to have happened.

"How are you doing?" Paris asks quietly in the fruit and veg aisle, eyes grave. "I know you guys were like the three Musketeers. Must be terrible."

Benvolio hums and coughs to bide for time and also cleverly imply that tears may have been involved in his very recent past. "Oh... yes... Very hard to, um. Still hasn't entirely hit me, y'know?"

Paris is confused by this. "You looked pretty hard hit on the day," he says, and yes, come to think of it there had been a lot of crying and hoarse yelling during that half an hour.

"Oh. Right, well." He suddenly gets distracted by the sight of Mercutio in his peripheral vision lying provocatively atop a row of cereal boxes and saying, _Draw me like one of your French girls._ "Very sad," Benvolio splutters, biting the inside of his cheek. "Very... so sad... Look, I need to go actually, Paris, to-" and in a last ditch effort he repositions his facial muscles into a solemn expression, "to be alone."

 

**(5)**

 

Romeo doesn't call him. You'd think he _would_ , seeing as their mutual best friend has just been BRUTALLY MURDERED, but Benvolio's not really that surprised. Romeo has always been one to lock himself away when shit goes down. One time he didn't come out if his house for two weeks, and that was just 'cause some girl he'd known for half a day turned out to have a boyfriend.

So he hasn't called. No texts. No contact. Benvolio supposes he would have to make the first move.

"Will you behave if I have Romeo round?" he asks, because he has to ask, and Mercutio laughs at the ever-familiar, matronly face he's pulling.

"Well, no," Mercutio says, "Duh."

 

**(6)**

 

"It's just fucking unfair, y'know?" Rome says angrily, gesticulating wildly with the vodka bottle. "This isn't supposed to happen in real life."

("Ha," Mercutio grins, snapping his fingers at the pun. Benvolio's lips quirk before be can stop himself.)

"I know, I know, it's the shittest scenario," he murmurs comfortingly, resisting the increasing urge to pet his friend like a puppy.

"And now I won't trust anything anymore, like now I know this shit can happen to anyone. Could happen to Juli, could happen to you..."

"Hey, don't think like that," Benvolio implores. "We're much more sensible than Cutio."

Romeo snorts and drinks some more.

("Rude," Mercutio huffs, and goes back to examining his nails.)

 

**(7)**

 

The world keeps turning. I mean, obviously it does, because it's not like anything's actually changed.

Benvolio's the only one who knows this though.

 

**(8)**

 

"I was worried you'd do something stupid," Romeo says confessionally one night while the Bake Off semi-final plays across the room.

"Huh?" Benvolio replies, only half-listening, and only realising too late that his obsession with cookery programmes was going to be the death of him, just as he'd always said, because:

"Well, he was like the love of your life or something, wasn't he?" Romeo continues.

"What." Benvolio says.

("What." Mercutio says.)

"I didn't really get it til I met Juliet and then it all kind of came together, the way you'd look at him and stuff."

"W-what," Benvolio says, unable to think of _a single fucking thing_ to say that would stop Romeo talking.

"And there was that guy you went out with in Year Ten who had the same hair, and the same ridiculous height and the same initials. It was pretty funny."

"Wh-"

"And then there's that time last year we got high at the beach and you told me."

"Ah," Benvolio says, closing his eyes.

( _"What,"_ Mercutio says).

 

(9) 

 

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," chants his inner and outer monologue as he has a panic attack in the pantry after excusing himself to make a cup of tea.

Mercutio had mercifully, and uncharacteristically, stayed quiet as the Bake Off ended and Countryfile began. (Rome is fucking weird and always makes everyone watch this shit.) But Ben had known it wouldn't last and he was in agony already just sitting there: so he exercised his accidentally-induced courage and went to Make Tea, to get it over with. His life, just to clarify.

"You...?" Cutio begins, having floated in after him, and then he clears his throat before trying again. "You...?"

Benvolio attempts to spontaneously combust, and when that fails he starts violently kicking the flour packets that are lined up on the floor, imagining them to be his own face. "Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, I, oh God, I was gonna... tell you..."

"How long?" Cutio asks, and it's the worst possible question because it will very soon become obvious how little Romeo was exaggerating.

Benvolio shoves the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, wheeling around on his socked heels like a demented bobble-head. "Uh, maybe... school?"

"Year Ten?" Mercutio presses, sounding understandably strange.

"...Bit, bit before that."

"Jesus Christ, Ben, that's years! And you never thought of saying?"

"Well no! Obviously! Because I didn't think it would last this long!"

And that's the truth. Well, at least half the truth.

"But. But it did."

"Yeah, it did."

"And then I went and died before you had the chance to do anything about it," Mercutio says, almost soft.

"I had seven years' worth of chances to do something about it," Ben points out wearily. And regrets it.

"So... why didn't you?"

Benvolio stares at him, pop-eyed. "Because it's weird! Normal people don't go around telling their friends they think about them naked!"

Mercutio snorts, and it briefly brings a semblance of normality to the conversation. Benvolio forgets himself and grins a little at the sound.

"Were those gonna be your exact words?" Cutio asks, laughter hiding the underlying conversation from the surface.

"Couldn't find the exact words, could I? So quite possibly."

"Oh, Benny."

 

**(10)**

 

For a few days they don't talk about it.

It's... surprisingly un-weird.

Mercutio continues to piss about with Benvolio's patience and personal space. Benvolio continues to focus on being exhausted by Mercutio so as to stealthily avoid any other more problematic feelings he may have. Romeo continues to have mind-bogglingly awful taste in television, but he starts to drink less. (And sometimes Benvolio forgets that the guy is technically in his darkest hour and this is real goddamned progress; but it's hard to be as sympathetic as he wants when the recently deceased person is sitting next to him on the couch making vulgar comments about the outfits on Strictly.)

Mercutio references it occasionally, off-hand, like "You love me really" or "Secretly you're turned on right now, don't lie", but it's not like that's any different to normal. Which is. Well, that's what makes Ben realise, really.

Mercutio already knew.

Romeo just... confirmed it.

_Fuck._

 

**(11)**

 

Juliet meets him for coffee one day after work. (After work for her, anyway. Benvolio had been granted compassionate leave - which thinking about it is kinda weird, 'cause it's not like they were married or related or anything.) She smiles carefully, tentatively, just as Ben's grown used to over the past few weeks, but he should've known it wouldn't be as easy as fooling Romeo.

"Okay, what's going on," she says, emphatically replacing her cup on the saucer and staring at him expectantly.

"Huh?"

"I believed Rome when he said you were withdrawn, but this isn't that. You're... fine."

He could deny it, and probably fail to convince her, and thus arouse further suspicion. Alternatively he could pull the sympathy card, something he despised. Shitballs.

"Can't you be glad for me? That I'm okay finally?"

She looks guilty. He feels sick.

"Yes, alright. Sorry," she says. She reaches over to touch his arm. "You just seem... odd."

Benvolio remembers the funeral, and how the three of them had been the only people sitting on the front row. Juliet had cried into Romeo's shoulder throughout, their hands entwined on their knees. Benvolio had held his own hand, clasped on his lap so the cufflinks glinted from the sunlight coming through the stained glass Saints.

Mercutio didn't come, or if he did he didn't make himself known to Ben; he'd asked him not to. ("Give me this, okay? Give me two hours to make people believe I'm shook up.")

"I know. I'm not very good with grief." he says now, which isn't a lie. Juli nods kindly, and Benvolio's pulse slows down in profound relief. He decides a heartfelt speech is due. "I mean, after my dad-"

"Yeah, I get it, just." she interrupts, faltering, both qualities of which are uncharacteristic. "Um. Well, Romeo told me you liked him."

Instead of blushing or running away or whipping out a notebook to brainstorm ways to kill Romeo in the dead of night or something sensible like that, Benvolio laughs. _Laughs._ It's like he's having an out of body experience, watching himself chuckle, _"Way to trivialise it."_ And that was definitely a mistake, he realises, pulse ramping up again as Juliet's face softens considerably. Oh Lordy.

"Paris also told me he saw you talking to yourself in town a while ago."

They stare at each other.

"Bollocks," Benvolio says.

 

**(12)**

 

Again, he has two choices.

He could tell her he does it sometimes to keep himself company, which is pitiful and he doesn't think he can handle any more pity. Or he could tell her the truth. Which, no way.

Juliet, typically, doesn't give him a chance to use either.

 

**(12)**

 

Benvolio shuts the front door behind him as quietly as he can so as not to alert Mercutio to his arrival. It had been cold in town and the sun had been threatening to set all the way home, so as much as he wants some alone time his extremities are protesting for more radiator proximity.

The living room is pink when he walks in.

Mercutio grins at him from the couch. "Look at this, Benny!" He's sitting cross-legged about a foot above the middle cushion, and he is glowing. He screws up his face in concentration and the living room slowly darkens to a mauve.

"I'm a lava lamp!!" he exclaims.

?????

Benvolio is tempted to just leave again, but (a) this is his goddamn living room (and there's something hilarious to be said about a ghost in a living room), and (b): "Great, but more importantly, Juliet thinks I've gone mad."

Without hesitation, the reply: "Have you?"

(Mauve to purple.)

"Maybe. My imagination's not good enough to make up half the crap you spew, though."

"Yes it is."

"Don't mess with my head right now, okay?"

(Purple to navy.)

Cutio floats across to the end of the couch so Benvolio can collapse next to him. "She thinks you're hallucinating me."

"Well, she's not far off. I do see dead people. Well, person. Why don't I see other dead people?"

"A question for another day. I can assure you, however, that I am not a figment of your imagination. I have thoughts and _everything_."

"But how can I-"

Mercutio sighs. "I know I can't prove it to you, but just trust me, okay?"

They haven't been looking at each other, just the blank TV and the (now green) wall behind it. Benvolio shifts.

"Okay," he says.

 

**(14)**

 

He snaps when Juliet stages an intervention. Romeo's 'round, bearing industrial size bags of microwaveable popcorn, and they're supposed to be having a Daredevil marathon.

("Fuck yes! I never saw the last two episodes," Mercutio yells, bouncing off the walls.)

Benvolio scoffs, and Romeo's eyes bug out for a second and he scampers off to the bathroom or something.

Ten minutes later, Juliet arrives.

"We're here to talk about..." she trails off, unsure what to call it.

("Kevin? The Avengers Initiative? Our lord and saviour?" Mercutio suggests. Benvolio's lips quirk and he belatedly covers it up with a cough.)

"THAT, that right there," Juliet says, pointing at him.

"You've been super weird, man," Romeo nods, shoving some popcorn in his mouth.

"It's like you're seeing him and hearing him and everything, all the time."

_I am,_ he thinks. "What?" he opts for.

"You should see a bereavement counsellor," Juliet says, and she pulls out some fucking pamphlets from her handbag.

("A medium, more like," Cutio snorts, and _there's_ an idea.)

Benvolio makes a considering face in answer to Mercutio, but of course Juliet thinks it's for her. She smiles encouragingly and ploughs on. "Not that I don't want you to grieve in the way you feel most comfortable, but it's not acceptance of loss, is it?"

("Ughhhhhhhhhhhh, fuck this," Cutio says.)

"Think about it," Juliet says.

"Did you get a lava lamp?" Romeo says.

 

**(15)**

 

So he snaps. He laughs uncontrollably and somewhat painfully for several minutes, and then tells them he's Paranorman because he hasn't got much choice now that the room is fluctuating through all the colours of the rainbow. Well, he could've said he had a lava lamp. But no one finds lava lamps that funny, and he's sick of this whole fucking thing anyway.

"I'm not mad, I promise," he wheezes, head between his knees. "I just have OCCULT POWERS!" ...and then he and Mercutio are back to laughing hysterically, making the light change colour even more jerkily.

"There you go, he's admitted his bonkersness, can we watch Daredevil now?" Romeo asks, eyes straying to where the Netflix homescreen is waiting for them.

"No, no, Rome, I'm not making him up!" he insists. "He's the lamp! He's what's making the room glow! I dunno why but he can do that now!"

"You could just find lava lamps really funny," Romeo points out. "And ghosts aren't known for being... fluorescent. And anyway, you'd have told me ages ago if you really saw his ghost wouldn't you?"

("That's a point, why didn't you?" Mercutio turns to him, hiccuping. Benvolio ignores him even though he doesn't to anymore.)

"I wasn't gonna tell you but then you got it into your heads that I'm crazy, so naturally I want to redeem myself. Rome, uh, _oh_ \- ask me something only Mercutio would know the answer to."

(Mercutio snaps his fingers. "That's how I could've proved myself to _you!_ ")

"That's not gonna work, he told you everything!"

"Think hard then."

"This is stupid," Romeo mutters, but furrows his brow as he thinks.

Meanwhile, Juliet is staring at him. "How are you so sure he's real?" she asks quietly.

"Well, I'm not. But no one could make up someone so annoying without any physical form to punch."

He looks over at Mercutio and the guy winks at him. ("Later we can have a Q&A until you believe in me, B." The wink makes it Kik-level sleazy, but it's strangely gentle, the way he says it, almost intimate, like a promise.)

"Okay, got it. A couple of months ago we were at that Pat guy's house party, you remember? And you went to sulk by the pool after an hour or two 'cause you didn't know anyone?"

"Not really a party animal," Benvolio defends himself.

("Maybe a party _sloth_ ," Mercutio contributes.)

"Okay, so you went off and Cutio came back from slut-dropping with the best of them and asked where you were and I said you were sulking by the pool 'cause you didn't know anyone."

"Right."

Mercutio has gone quiet beside him.

"What did he reply to that?"

("...You sneaky bugger," Mercutio hisses after a pause. "He's, he's. Well, it's quite smart really, especially considering it's fucking _Rome_.")

Benvolio turns to him, relishing the fact that he can, in public.

(Mercutio continues to glower at Romeo. "He knows I narrate my life to you pretty much constantly, so he's asked me something I wouldn't tell you. Like, deliberately.")

"Oh," Benvolio says.

"Well?" Romeo prompts.

"Hang on," he tells him.

("Uh," Mercutio says, and it's like Juliet the other day: Benvolio's never really seen him look uneasy or uncomfortable or anything. He's always so in control of everything, for better or worse - he's this magical creature for whom everything goes right, and he's also an excellent liar. So he doesn't falter.

Except now he does.

"Uh," he says again. "Shit, okay." He ducks his head and then rolls his neck around so he's looking at Benvolio through his fringe. "I said, 'Shall I ask him to dance?'.")

Benvolio blinks at him. _That was anticlimactic._ "I... why did you not want me to know that? You always ask me to dance at parties." _And I always refuse._

("'Cause I meant it," he replies quietly, the room a steady muted orange.)

And it takes Benvolio a second.

"Oh," he says.

"What the fuck!" Romeo shouts, on his feet. "That's it! That's what he said, he wanted to dance with you! HOLY SHIT!"

Mercutio, the bastard, disappears.

 

**(16)**

 

Benvolio kicks them out shortly after that, telling them to sleep on it and come back when they have anything sensible at all to say about the situation. In his flailing state, Romeo had left pieces of his popcorn scattered all over the place, and Benvolio spends a meticulous half an hour crawling all over the carpet to find them all.

When he's done, he sits down on the empty couch and presses play on the remote.

 

**(17)**

 

An hour and a half later, Matt Murdock is backflipping off yet another building, and the room's darkness changes to a mellow red.

Mercutio floats through the cushions and stops next to him. "Hey," he says quietly, eyes locked on the screen.

All the questions in Benvolio's head die. "Hey."

"Sorry I bailed," Mercutio murmurs.

"S'alright," Benvolio murmurs back.

Nothing else is said until the episode ends and the next begins.

"You know, it was way worse for me," Ben points out lazily. Mercutio looks at him at last. "I mean, Romeo outed us both, so to speak, but mine was much more embarrassing."

"How come?"

"You were just drunk and bored and lonely, and I was wearing that shirt you got me for my birthday." This is what he had concluded. It was a truly terrible shirt - way too tight, and it had screamed I'M UP FOR IT in a way nothing Benvolio had ever owned had done before - but he'd wanted to prove that he could pull it off. He's pretty sure he failed in the eyes of anyone with taste, but seeing as Cutio was the one to bloody buy it, presumably he'd liked it. "I, on the other hand, have been victim to the L word for years."

Mercutio sighs. "Why are you so adamant that no one could ever love you?"

_Because no one ever has,_ he thinks. He says, "So you're saying you love me?"

"'Course I do, Benny."

And Ben wants to say, _duh, but not like that,_ but somehow, suddenly, he knows that to Mercutio there's no difference. His heart's promiscuous, and those he likes he likes more than anything else.

So shit.

Well then.

"R-really?"

"I wouldn't just say it to make you happy," Mercutio says

"Yeah you would."

Cutio looks at his translucent bare feet, stretching his long toes. "Yeah, I would actually. But I'm not."

 

**(18)**

 

They can't kiss, because one of them has no tangible form. It sucks. Benvolio swears when they try and maybe breaks a vase. Mercutio wrings his hands and disappears for a while.

It's nothing like a fairytale.


End file.
